


Two-Hundred-and-Something Days of Nothing

by lunaaltare



Category: Life of Pi - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Dark Humor, Gen, Introspection, Religious Imagery & Symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-20
Updated: 2016-02-20
Packaged: 2018-05-22 06:05:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6067939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunaaltare/pseuds/lunaaltare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pi writes to pass the time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two-Hundred-and-Something Days of Nothing

**Author's Note:**

> This was for an English assignment, but it was decent enough for me not to trash it the night after I turned it in.

-o-

The sun was beautiful this morning. The weather was warm with a light overcast, the sea was still and the sky was painted in all sorts of hues. Sunlight reflected off the water, and aside from the weak ripples lapping against the boat, there was a perfect replication of the sky in the ocean. The gentle swaying paired with balmy gusts made it seem like I was floating. I had to dip my hand in the water to remind myself I was still lost at sea and not coasting through the clouds in Captain Hook’s ship.

Father Martin once said that people witnessed God in different forms. This morning—even as a sat mere feet away from two animal corpses, a rabid hyena and a daunting Bengal tiger—I think I’ve seen His face somewhere in the ethers.

-o-

Oh Jesus, Muhammed and Vishnu! There’s no quite fear like the fear of your life.

Being surrounded by the world’s most fascinating (and equally dangerous) animals my entire life did nothing to deter the ice that spread through my veins. It felt like I’ve been doused by a basin of cold water, or even electrocuted by a bolt of lightning. Either way, there weren’t any words in the English or Hindi language to describe it.

Richard Parker was no good and I _knew_ it! The little tacit truce between us was fickle and insubstantial—I’m foolish for giving into a false sense of security while within the domain of a tiger; my father did not die for me to forget his lessons and end up as an afternoon snack.

As long as Richard Parker had food, I would be safe. Simple as that. But once Orange Juice’s body rotted away, and the hyena was long since eaten, there was nothing left but a scrawny, scared Indian boy and man-eating beast. Sustenance was essential to any complex species’ survival, and today I was almost that sustenance—truce be damned.

Then, as if the merciful Lord reached down to lend a hand, a rat leapt out of nonexistence, catching Parker’s eye the way I had just heartbeats before. He pounced and chased after it, but I surely didn’t stick around long enough to see if he caught it.

-o-

Sometimes, to pass the long, boring hours between sunrise and sundown, I like to imagine what would happen if I reached land. None of my imaginings were realistic—too many of them ended with me being greeted heartily by my family at the shore—but considering my situation, I think unrealistic is acceptable.

Several times, I imagined that I’d become a massive, superstar once I left this godforsaken boat in this godforsaken ocean. That my story would be able to evoke tears from saints and sinners alike and a hundred years from now, they’d tell my journey as a part of some new religious text (because my misfortune could be none other than trail from God rather than a spin of cruel fate) and I’d be seen as the righteous disciple. “The Miracle Boy” or “Pi the Great”. I hadn’t decided yet.

If my journey didn’t get picked up by a religion, then I’d settle for dominating evening talk shows and touring across the world to spread the word of faith through my experience. I’d make pointless biographies, and maybe even a “How To” guide for training Bengal tigers, if this whistle tactic worked out right.

But my dreams would stay just that. It was far too many days in, and I still can’t see a sliver of green on the horizon.

-o-

I’m peppered with bruises and cuts and welts and all sorts of nasty things that would make a doctor faint. It’s a miracle that I’m alive, really, when I’m sure I look like a very skinny, brown pickle. My skin stings, my body aches when I walk, and my mouth is perpetually dry. When I breathe, by lungs rattle and wheeze—it sounds like a broken car. Or even faintly of the whining from _Tsimtsum_ as it submerged in black water.

Richard Parker is worse for wear. He’s about a few missed meals from being a fancy rug. He’s thin, his skin clings to his ribs, and there’s a dead look in his eye when he lays on his side, tongue lolling about as he waits for a drop of water or a chunk of fish.

Today, Parker and I are the same people.

-o-

Today, God reminded me why I must remain humble and ever grateful for the things I have, even if He takes them away. My mom, my dad, my brother, and now my raft? How many more will be snatched from my hands until He is appeased? My sanity? My tiger? My _life_?


End file.
